The village where I grew up was so remote, the nearest village was 2km away, across a single bridge, and they didn’t even speak our language. As a boy, if I saw a stranger, I’d run for the hills. We were like a hill tribe.
I figured chefs get to travel. So at the age of 15, I packed a cardboard suitcase, borrowed money from my older brother and went to the nearest town, 70km away. It was raining, the suitcase broke, and I showed up at the restaurant carrying a bundle of wet clothes.
When you have nothing, you become very inventive. I got that from my mom; she had to feed 12 kids with the produce she had from our small little farm. She’d say, “Get some berries for the omelet.” And we’d go into the forest; we’d follow our noses, looking for mushrooms or hazelnuts.
She taught me the importance of respect. My siblings and I used to argue a lot in our young days. She was alright with the fact that we all have different beliefs and world views; and at times we all have to settle things through quarrels and arguments. But we have to do it with respect and kind words.
I am a Roman Catholic, but I am very open-minded about other religions and philosophies.
I love good ethnic food, and I don’t mind eating khao kha moo on the street as long as it’s authentic and unpretentious. Once, at a fancy restaurant, I ordered beef panang, and what I got was a piece of tenderloin, sliced and served with a sauce. I returned the dish and told the waiter, that is no beef panang.
Fusion is alright. Just don’t try too hard to reinvent the wheel. Simple is best. Good pasta, some olive oil, good tomatoes. That’s it.
A dish has a leading flavor. Enhance it, don’t overpower it. Nature makes no mistakes. My mom would make doughnuts with poppy seeds. It was so simple and so good, because the flour was amazing.
You don’t need a cook to serve caviar. To roast a chicken, and get it moist and tender and crispy, you need a cook.
In Thailand during the 70s, there was no way to cook European food. There wasn’t even any butter. We’d buy cream from a traveling Indian salesman on a bicycle and pasteurize it ourselves.
Kurt Wachtveitl made the Oriental [the hotel’s general manager for 41 years]. He was a great leader who taught me a lot.
I cooked for 42 crowned heads for his majesty’s 60th coronation anniversary. Kurt was pale as a boiled egg. We had to bring out 400 dishes simultaneously. If I had messed up, he’d have taken the blame. It was an honor. But I was too focused to be nervous.
I don’t judge people by the shoes they wear. For me, every customer is a VIP.
When I first went up to the Royal Projects, there was almost nothing. That summer, I went to Italy and went to a shop that sold seeds. When the owner heard the seeds were to help people in Thailand, he refused to let me pay. Some seeds grew, some did not. But it was a start.
I tell young cooks: cook something you’d want to personally bring to the table and say, “I made this for you.” You have to love eating. And you have to be happy making someone happy.
Hard work never killed anyone. Doing nothing destroys people. You don’t have to be the smartest, but just don’t be lazy.
I tell my son Johann [chef-owner of
Johann Bistro] to get out of the kitchen. Say “Goodbye, come again soon.” Ask people about the food. You have to be able to take criticism.
People come to the restaurant and they look at their phones. Nobody ever talks to each other. They’re so lonely.
The future of food is nutritious cuisine. You shouldn’t feel stuffed for hours after a great meal. You should feel full of energy.
People eat too fast. You need to chew to produce enough saliva to properly digest. And you need time for that little gland in the back of your head to realize your belly is full.
I have no plans of retiring. Cooking is a pleasure. The older I get, the more I love it.
